


Five Times Moriarty Didn't Say "I love you"

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Alternate Ending, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times that Moriarty did not speak the words "I love you" to Moran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Moriarty Didn't Say "I love you"

Moran comes back wet and cold but flushed with success, his adrenaline still pumping. Moriarty looks at him and smiles, just a tiny bit, as he pours Moran a drink. He watches him down it; eyes the subtle movements of Moran’s throat as he swallows, before he plucks the empty glass from Moran’s chilled fingers.

   “Sit,” he commands, nudging Moran back upon the sofa, and then he stoops and unlaces Moran’s boots; strips him of his damp clothes; lies him back and uses his mouth upon Moran for the first time ever, bringing him to the peak of pleasure with skill and tenderness.

    He does not say, “I love you.”

-

   It’s a minor scuffle really and the other party comes off the worst but there’s blood trickled down Moran’s nose and chin and a gash that’s gone through jacket, waistcoat, shirt and underclothes and opened a wound across his ribs. It probably would have been worse except the blade was too blunt to slice through all the clothing  _and_  cut him more deeply, but it’s still seeping blood. Back in his rooms, Moran curses as the professor removes his clothing to assess the damage, peeling the layers of fabric out of the blood. He swears again when the professor wipes the cut with iodine and his fingers dig into Moriarty’s shoulders.

    Moriarty’s gaze meets his and he smiles, with relief that it’s not more serious, and maybe a bit of fondness too. “Don’t be such a child, Sebastian,” he says as his hand comes to rest lightly upon Moran’s wrist, shifting then to give Moran’s hand a gentle squeeze.

   He does not say, “I love you.”

-

   “Go home, Moran,” the professor says from his sickbed. “I’m perfectly fine and you’re in the way.”

   Moran, sprawling in the arm chair, just looks at him, and does not get up. Apparently he’s settled in for the night. “Pardon my impudence, Professor, but I’m staying. Anyone could come in here and take pot-shots at you in your condition.”

   “I’m giving you an order, Colonel.”

   “And I’m disobeying it,  _sir_. Do you not recall why I got thrown out the army?” Moran grins wickedly; fearlessly.

   Moriarty looks back at him, his own blue eyes blazing just as intensely as Moran’s, and then he smirks, conceding this battle to his gunman; his loyal pet. “Very well, but don’t think I’ll allow you to have a blanket,” he says with a further smirk, before turning his attention to his book.

   He does not say, “I love you.”

-

   When he goes over the balcony perhaps there are so many other thoughts that should spring into his mind; so many emotions that he should feel (disappointment; fury; anger that Holmes bested him with such a cheap trick as that, or perhaps he should be amused at Holmes for being such a self-sacrificing dolt that he’d take that great mind from the world not really for some greater act of perceived goodness but solely for the sake of a mere doctor and his wife) or maybe – if one’s life truly does flash before one’s eyes in moments of peril – he should recollect his childhood; his upbringing; his careers (respectable and less respectable ones alike). And yet what he thinks of in that moment is not Holmes; not his past; not his achievements nor his now fallen empire; not anything, except for a disgraced army colonel. It’s Moran’s name he’s screaming as he falls, down into the water.

    He does not say, “I love you.”

-

    “Professor,” Moran says, his voice hoarse with some strong emotion. He looks almost as cold and miserable as Moriarty and his eyes seem to glisten strangely.

   “Moran,” the professor says, and staggers towards him, soaked and limping and with blood running down his face from some wound on his scalp, and his clothes are all torn.

   “Professor, I thought you were… I searched for you; I searched and searched but I couldn’t find you.”

   Moriarty stumbles and Moran catches him; holds him, and now the tears spill over. It’s the first time Moran has cried since he was a child, and the professor will  _hate_  him for this, he knows.

   “You should have had more faith in me, Sebastian,” Moriarty says to his gunman; his right hand man; his bodyguard; his lover; his most intimate and trusted acquaintance, and perhaps the one thing he has left now out of everything he built up.

   “Sir…” Moran pulls back a bit as he feels Moriarty shivering. “Here, Professor.” He takes off his overcoat and puts it around Moriarty. The coat itself is damp and the hem is torn from where Moran snagged it on a bush as he hurried down to search the river below the falls, but it’s in a far better state than Moriarty’s attire and it cuts out a little of the icy wind at least. “We’ll get somewhere warm, Professor; you’ll be all right.”

   Moriarty looks at him and he smiles as he weakly reaches up to brush a tear from Moran’s cheek with his thumb. “Thank you, Moran,” he says, and then leans into the colonel’s hold as they begin to carefully walk away, Moriarty allowing – for once – Moran to support him.

   He does not say, “I love you.” 

 


End file.
